


don't let the bedbugs bite

by AlexSeanchai



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: 3 Sentence Fiction, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir Needs a Hug, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Guardian Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Insomnia, Podfic Welcome, Post-Reveal Pre-Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 12:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22969729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexSeanchai/pseuds/AlexSeanchai
Summary: Sometimes his empty bedroom or her too-filled one feels like a trap there's no sleeping in.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 7
Kudos: 175





	don't let the bedbugs bite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AceyAnaheim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceyAnaheim/gifts).



> prompt: _unorthodox cures for insomnia_

Sometimes his bedroom is too stifling—a cage so big it was once a ballroom is still a cage, a prison with gilded bars and one's beloved father's promise of safety is still a prison feeling the furthest thing from safe, and knowing this ring on his finger and this friend at his side will open any lock and break any chain makes staying endurable but not always bearable, especially when he doesn't dare keep here anything she needs save money and himself—so he takes up the staff he shaped of borrowed power and he takes flight across the rooftops and he _runs_ till his father or his school or his partner calls.

Sometimes her workroom is too weighty—this burden she never asked for too heavy on her shoulders, slumped from the weary fear of should she slip, from the wary fear of should someone trip any of her traps magical and mechanical, mystic and mundane laid _here_ to guard her journals and _there_ to guard her jewels, none quickly fatal (she dares not risk that attention) but an incautious friend might still spring one and she's less sure of her alchemy and antidotes than of her potions and poisons—so she takes up her child's toy that no child in this city will ever believe is no weapon and she goes to ground among her city and she _runs_ till her partner or her friends or her enemy finds her.

Sometimes she trudges into class, early for lack of sleep, and finds him there already, concealer expertly blended, with two steaming travel mugs—he's halfway through his peppermint mocha; the pumpkin spice one waits for her—and if neither his seatmate nor hers is there, well, after nights like this neither cares much what they'll look like when she drops onto the bench beside him and slumps half into his lap, where he can cuddle her and he can't help but breathe in her lavender scent, or she lets him drape himself over her shoulder, in easy reach for her to scratch behind his absent ears: probably _one_ of them should stay awake to take notes, but the streets and roofs are often cold and rough to sleep on, and neither quite dares be caught opening their bed or their heart to their partner, and the days after the nights when neither sleeps without the other there, at least the classroom's warm.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Dreamwidth](https://alexseanchai.dreamwidth.org/) and [Tumblr](https://alexseanchai.tumblr.com/).


End file.
